The morning air in Magnolia carried a crisp freshness that finally washed away the lingering smell of ozone and gunpowder.
Sunlight pierced through the thin clouds, spilling over the ruins of Kardia Cathedral.
It cast a warm golden hue upon the charred stone, broken pillars, and melted cobblestones.
Cleanup efforts had already begun; mages bustled among the debris, using magic to lift rubble, repair the streets, and rebuild the structures damaged in the crossfire.
On the streets, citizens gathered in small groups, speaking in hushed tones.
The previous night's battle had been too shocking to ignore.
The towering flashes of lightning and flames, the deafening roars, the world-shaking energy waves—it had all become the hottest topic of discussion in every corner of the city.
"Did you hear? The Fantasia parade has been postponed to tomorrow evening."
"Postponed? Why? Doesn't it always take place on the exact night of the Harvest Festival?"
"I heard the Guild Master isn't feeling well."
"Who will be the next Master, anyway? Logically, it should be Laxus, right?"
"Laxus?" A middle-aged woman shook her head, a complex emotion flickering in her eyes.
"That child… Ah, it's truly heartbreaking. We've watched him grow up since he was just a little boy, trailing behind Master Makarov, calling out 'Grandpa' in that tiny voice…"
She paused, gazing toward the Fairy Tail guildhall, her voice growing somber.
"But now… It seems we've all grown old. The children have grown up, yet they've taken paths we can no longer understand."
Many in the crowd had watched Laxus grow.
They remembered how the golden-haired boy used to charge recklessly around the guild, proudly declaring, "I'll be stronger than Grandpa one day!" And they remembered how he had gradually become withdrawn, arrogant, and distant from everyone.
"I hope he's alright," an elderly man sighed. "No matter what he did last night, that child is still Master Makarov's grandson."
...
Inside the guildhall, the atmosphere was entirely different.
Members with minor injuries were bandaging their wounds and sharing stories of their battles from the previous night.
The severely injured were resting in the infirmary, cared for by Porlyusica and the recovered medical team.
The air smelled of medicinal herbs and disinfectant, mingling warmly with the aroma of fresh food—Mirajane and a few other girls were preparing a massive breakfast to reward their companions who had fought through the night.
"Are we really going to continue with the Fantasia parade under these circumstances?" Lucy sat at the bar, a few bandages on her face and hands, her tone uncertain.
"Everyone's either injured or exhausted, and Laxus, he…"
"It's the Master's wish," Mirajane said, placing a plate of freshly baked bread on the counter with a gentle smile.
"Besides, it's precisely because of this situation that we should continue. We need to show everyone that Fairy Tail won't be brought down by a single civil war. We're still full of life, and we are still the same joyful guild."
Juvia popped up from the side, her blue hair still slightly disheveled, but her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
"Juvia is really looking forward to the parade too! And… and you'll be participating, right?"
She spoke with flushed cheeks, stealing a glance toward a figure not far away.
The latter was currently discussing something with Elfman, completely unaware of the intense gaze directed at him.
Lucy smiled wryly and was about to say something when—
Creak.
The guild's heavy wooden door was pushed open.
The faint friction of the hinges was barely noticeable in the noisy hall.
Yet, as if by some invisible magic, the clamor in the room abruptly died down.
Conversations, laughter, and the clinking of glasses all ceased.
Everyone turned to look at the entrance.
Laxus stood there.
He still wore his signature fur-collared coat, draped like a dark cape over his shoulders.
His face was pale yet sharply defined. Most striking was his right shoulder, the clothing there was noticeably thicker, faintly revealing the outline of heavy medical wrappings from Ace's final strike.
Yet his posture remained completely upright.
His back was straight, his steps steady—showing no outward sign of having just barely survived a life-and-death battle.
Silence.
Only the sounds of breathing and nervous heartbeats remained in the hall.
Then, the first voice rang out.
"You bastard!"
A guild member abruptly stood up, slamming his glass heavily on the table and splashing alcohol everywhere.
His face was flushed red, his eyes burning with fury.
"How dare you show your face here?! Do you have any idea what you've done?! You turned our comrades to stone! You made the guild fight each other! You nearly destroyed all of Magnolia!"
"That's right!" Another member stepped forward, his pipe trembling with agitation. "Laxus, you went too far! Do you realize the girls might never have come back?!"
"Get out!"
"You're not welcome here!"
"Why did you come back? To laugh at us?!"
The waves of anger grew increasingly intense. Members rose one after another, closing in with hostility.
The fear of being petrified, the fury of being forced to fight their friends, the lingering terror of nearly losing their home—all these emotions erupted at once.
Laxus stood at the entrance, his expression completely calm. He didn't look at the angry faces or respond to the accusations.
His gaze simply passed over the crowd, looking toward the corridor at the back of the hall.
"Where's the old man?" he spoke, his voice steady, cutting clearly through the noise.
"How dare you ask about the Master?!" A young member charged forward impulsively, reaching out to grab Laxus by the collar.
"Enough."
Erza's voice wasn't loud, but it carried undeniable authority.
Her sharp gaze swept across the hall, and those she looked at instinctively stepped back.
She turned to Laxus.
Her eyes were complex—filled with anger, disappointment, and confusion, but deepest of all, a trace of barely perceptible sorrow.
"The Master is in the infirmary at the back," Erza said, enunciating each word clearly.
Laxus nodded slightly, offering no further response.
He strode directly through the crowd.
Wherever he stepped, the members automatically parted to make way, but their gazes—hateful, contemptuous, and bewildered—pierced him like physical blows.
He acted as if he felt nothing.
Just as he was about to cross the hall and enter the corridor leading to the infirmary, a figure suddenly darted out, blocking his path.
It was Natsu.
Unlike the rest of the guild's mages, Natsu wasn't covered in medical wrappings.
Aside from a few scuffs and bruised knuckles from throwing himself relentlessly against Piedmon's cage the night before, he was perfectly fine.
But his eyes burned with an intense fire.
"Laxus!" Natsu roared, pointing a finger right at his face.
The entire area fell into dead silence.
Everyone stared wide-eyed, expecting a violent brawl to break out right there in the hall.
"You bastard! I didn't even get to fight you!" Natsu yelled, completely shattering the heavy tension with his typical battle-crazed logic.
"Yesterday doesn't count because I wasn't there! Once you heal up, I'm gonna beat you to a pulp! I'll fight you fair and square! No, ten times! A hundred times! Until I pummel you so hard you admit I'm stronger!"
Lucy facepalmed. "Natsu... read the room."
"Idiot," Gray sighed, his eyebrow twitching. "Is fighting literally the only thing in your brain?"
"Let him be," Gajeel scoffed from the wall, his arms crossed. "Though I call next after the salamander gets his teeth kicked in."
"Dragon Slayers really do share a single brain cell," Ace murmured softly from a corner booth, taking a slow sip of hot tea.
He looked much better than last night, though his face remained somewhat pale from magic depletion.
Laxus stared at Natsu for a few seconds.
The sheer, ridiculous purity of Natsu's challenge momentarily pierced through the heavy guilt weighing on Laxus's chest.
Then, Laxus slowly extended his uninjured left hand and gave a subtle flick of his fingers.
Zzzt.
A tiny, harmless spark of static electricity jumped from his finger and struck Natsu right on the forehead.
The sudden, stinging shock made Natsu's spiky pink hair stand completely on end.
"Get stronger first, idiot," Laxus muttered, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips as he walked past the stunned Dragon Slayer.
Natsu stood rooted to the spot, literal steam blowing out of his ears from sheer frustration.
His eyes gleamed with complex emotions—anger, annoyance, but undeniably, a trace of happiness.
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